Little Pitchers Have Wide Eares. [little Pitchers

Faire Language Grates Not The Tongue.

Reckon Right, And February Hath One And Thirty Daies.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

He That Cannot Forgive Others, Breaks The Bridge Over Which He Himself Must Pass If He Would Ever Reach Heaven; For Everyone Has Need To Be Forgiven.

Wine Is A Turne-coate (first A Friend, Then An Enemy). [wine Is A Turncoat, First A Friend, Then An Enemy.]